


The Defense

by babydollbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mention of torture, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydollbucky/pseuds/babydollbucky
Summary: Prompt 16:During the Winter Soldier trial, there are protests outside. Things get heated, and one little guy gets hurt so bad that he has to be taken to the hospital.





	The Defense

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember whose prompt this was, I'm so sorry!

He couldn’t believe these people. Didn’t they have any empathy? Hadn’t they ever had to do something terrible, only to regret it later? Didn’t they have any empathy at all? 

 

The trial of James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, was ending today. The verdict, and possibly his sentence, would be announced today. 

 

He was the most feared assassin in the world, the most successful one. He’d done a lot of harm to the world. 

 

But he was also just a man who’d been hurt beyond anything anyone could truly comprehend. 

 

The man had been held captive for nearly seventy years. Tortured, brainwashed, made to forget everything that had made him a person. A prisoner of war turned into a weapon. 

 

Steve’s heart broke for him. 

 

And these  _ assholes _ had the gall to call him a traitor! To call for the _ death penalty _ . To wish more harm on him. To say he  _ deserved what had happened to him.  _

 

It was  _ infuriating _ . 

 

And Steve would not let this be the only sight Barnes saw when he left the courthouse. 

 

He had gone out and bought a plain white shirt, and written on it. He'd brought a handpainted sign. He couldn't think of anything that would suffice in showing his support for Barnes, but he tried his best.  

 

_ THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE _

_ #BarnesIsASurvivor  _

 

_ NOT A TRAITOR _

_ #ImWithYouBarnes _

 

Nothing he could say or write would accurately describe how he felt for this man, but Steve hoped that, no matter what happened, Barnes would know that someone was on his side. That someone cared.

 

He was glad for the fact that there were a bunch of other people there, counter protesting the assholes. He would've stood there by himself if it were necessary, but Steve was grateful on Barnes’ behalf that there were others willing to show that they were in his corner. And the police were there, presumably to curb any possible violence. 

 

It lasted the entire day. Steve was lucky that it was a low allergy day, and that high blood pressure wasn't one of his issues because he was livid and was pretty sure he'd never yelled so much in his life. He was losing his voice, he was sweating and dehydrated and dizzy, he was starving, and his feet hurt. But damn it if he was going to leave. 

 

Finally, the jury had come to a decision. That it apparently wasn't a unanimous vote for acquittal, as it took so long, was ridiculous to Steve. There shouldn't have been anything to go over. It was clear as day that Barnes had fought as much as he could against his captors while enduring unimaginable duress. And what the videos had shown of the decades after he'd lost himself to the darkness should have solidified the jury's verdict. 

 

Steve breathed a quick sigh of relief at the announcement of Barnes being found not guilty of all charges. But it didn't last long, as the protesters started screaming their disapproval, cursing and spitting and throwing things. 

 

He ducked and dodged as well as he could, for once thankful for his small size. 

 

Except, now he was on the ground, and he couldn't breathe because someone was on top of him--a heavy weight on his chest, crushing him. He could feel his ribs poking his lungs as the air rushed out of them. 

 

Then he felt the cracking. 

 

And then world went black. 

 

***

 

“Barnes, you shouldn't watch this garbage. C'mon, let's go celebrate.” 

 

“Sam, this kid got trampled. At  _ my _ trial.”

 

Sam sighed. “Yeah, I heard about it. It's awful.” 

 

Barnes looked up at his friend, brows furrowed and lips downturned. “He’s 21. He was protesting the people that wanted--that wanted me in prison. He was defending me, Sam.”

 

Sam's heart nearly broke at the confused tone he spoke with, like he couldn't believe anyone would be on his side. 

 

“Dude, there are a lot of people who understand that you weren't at fault. A lot. That's why you _ shouldn't look at this stuff.” _

 

Barnes appeared to take that to heart, closing whatever he was looking at on his phone. He didn't speak for a long time, and Sam thought (hoped) he would drop it and move on. 

 

No such luck. 

 

“I want to go see him,” Barnes said. The way he said it told Sam that he wouldn't be talked out of the idea.  

 

Sam still tried. 

 

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

 

Barnes groaned. “Why? If I'm really ok, I should be able to go see someone in a hospital. And aren't you the one who said I need to practice making choices, or something?”

 

“Yeah, but maybe this isn't the place or time to start doing that.” 

 

Feeling the childish urge to stomp his foot, Barnes only glared. “Sam. I  _ want _ to see him,” he said, willing the man to understand how important it was to him that he visit the kid who'd gotten hurt in his name. 

 

The dark skinned man held his hands up to placate his friend. “Alright, alright, man. You want me to come, or are you going alone?”

 

***

 

Despite his certainty that he needed to do this, Bucky fidgeted the entire ride to the hospital, so much so that Sam almost wanted to call him out. He could see the sidelong glances Sam threw his way. It was a little insulting, really. He knew he’d be safe; he didn’t need a weapon, not with the arm. But, he’d be surrounded by things he could use if things got ugly and he needed to…

 

He scowled and slapped himself on the thigh, hard. 

 

He was just going to see the 21-year old kid who’d gotten maimed proclaiming his support for Bucky. It was fine.

 

He was fine. 

 

“Dude, you gotta stop doing that. You know what your ther--” Sam began.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’ll hurt myself, and I shouldn't punish myself for thinking this was after so many years. Whatever,” he said, sounding like the petulant teenager he imagined he’d been in 1938. He couldn’t remember, couldn’t fathom having been so young and innocent. Shit, he could barely remember his mother’s face. 

 

The nondescript beige car stopped in front of the hospital, and the two men exited, wearing ball caps and sunglasses, and Bucky’s hair in a bun. He was grateful that Stark could be discreet when in counted, and for his generosity. His money had paid for Bucky’s excellent legal team, as well as his medical bills, including his multiple therapies. 

 

Sam took the lead, knowing that Bucky was in no shape to be talking to strangers, not while he was so on edge. Once he found out the kid’s room number, he nodded to Bucky, simultaneously offering to lead him to the room, or back out to the car, if he wanted.

 

He nodded back, a curt dip of his head, and followed his friend.  He tried to look forward, only ahead, so as not to get lost in himself. He focused on the sound of Sam’s footfalls, and almost knocked him over when he halted. 

 

“204, here he is. You all good, or you need a minute? Want me to come in?” Sam asked. Unendingly supportive, Bucky would forever be grateful that Sam had seen something in him beyond a mindless murderer. Even having tried to kill him, upon learning his situation, Sam was the one who got the Avengers together to spring him from HYDRA and rehabilitate him. He was the one who had convinced an entire team of enhanced people (some of whom were directly affected by his...activities) to take him in and help him. He owed Sam a debt he feared he’d never be able to repay, even taking into consideration his unnaturally long life. 

 

“Uh. yeah, I’m. I’m good. I’m...I got this. Thanks,” he stuttered. He felt unsteady, like his legs were brand new. His breathing was shallow, and he made an effort to suck more air deep down into his belly. There was no point in having an episode here. 

 

Plus, he wasn’t looking to give the injured kid a heart attack. He just wanted to thank him, and make sure he was alright. 

 

When he felt calm enough, he knocked on the door with his flesh hand (no need to break it), and stepped in when he heard someone say “come in.”

 

He stepped slowly into the room, eyes aimed at the single bed in the corner, up against the only window. In it was a small, thin body, bruised to hell with splotches of red, purple, blue and yellow all over the arms and face. When Bucky’s eyes met the kid’s, his breath caught in his lungs. 

 

Eyes as blue as the sky right before dusk, blue like he’d never seen before. Bucky was pretty sure he’d never seen a color that intense. Maybe he was only now truly seeing color for the first time. 

 

He was so pretty. He was a mass of contradictions. Delicate bird bones, yet a strong set to his jaw. Soft skin, but worn hands. A youthful face, but with an unfathomable internal sadness. His hair was a soft honey blond, a fringe of bangs swept to the side in a style similar to how Bucky must have as a young man. His hands, poked through with IVs, were large and bony, but graceful, like a pianist’s. 

 

Bucky was smitten. 

 

Before he could say anything, the kid opened his mouth, an adorable confusion taking over his face. 

 

“Um, hi? If you’re here for an interview, you’re going to be disappointed,” he said, voice sharp with warning. 

 

“What? No, no, I’m not here for--” Bucky whipped the hat off his head and pulled his hair tie out, ripping a few strands out of his head. “I’m, uh…” As the kid’s eyes widened in shock, he suddenly felt timid, like he’d made a mistake. 

 

Just because this guy had been advocating for him didn’t mean he’d want to see him in person. 

 

He wanted to tell him that he had the wrong room, and he started backing up towards the door. But before he could spit out an apology, the kid was talking again.

 

“Oh my god, you’re--”

 

“Barnes, yeah…” Bucky was starting to think this was a bad idea. Maybe having an assassin in his hospital room wasn’t good for the kid’s health. 

 

“Wow. I’m so glad you’re alright!” the slight man breathed with a small smile. 

 

The kid was  _ glad _ about something? The hell?

 

‘I--what?” Bucky said, eloquently. 

 

“I was worried about you getting out of the courthouse alright, there were so many...jackasses,” the kid finished bitterly. But he softened again when he realized that Bucky was frozen in place. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.” He held out the hand not weighed down by IVs.

 

Bucky held out his own hand to shake Steve’s--the right one, he didn’t want to freak the kid out. “Bucky Barnes. Are you...You’re ok, right?” He asked awkwardly. He was honestly surprised and touched that the kid had still worried for him even from his hospital bed. 

 

The grin that broke out on Steve’s face was brilliant, and not unlike that of a shark. “Bucky. Yeah, I’ve had worse. Few broken ribs can’t keep me down long.”  

 

Bucky barked out a hoarse laugh, startling himself. Steve was something else, a firecracker full of cheek. 

 

“Get into trouble a lot, then?” 

 

“Mm...more than my mom would have liked. But I don’t think of it as trouble. It’s just...doing what should be done.”  

 

Bucky thought on that for a moment. 

 

“So, defending the honor of a mass murderer is something that ‘should be done?’” he asked quietly.

 

“It’s not murder when you have no choice. It’s survival,” Steve said with a conviction so strong that Bucky almost believed him. 

 

“You... really believe that? That I had no choice?” Bucky dared to ask, and he could hear Sam’s voice in the back of his head yelling that he was being stupid. 

 

The frown on Steve’s face was both endearing and intense. His lips opened, but nothing came out. The furrow between his brows deepened, and Bucky never wanted to see that expression on his face again. 

 

“Did you choose to hurt anyone? Did you join HYDRA because you wanted to? Did you volunteer to have your arm cut off and--” Steve’s voice rose in volume until he was shouting, and Bucky couldn’t have that. 

 

“Whoa, ok, ok, calm down, kid,” he waved his hands hoping to placate the man. “It’s not--it’s not that simple, Steve.” 

 

“Yes it is! Did you want to do any of it? Because that’s the only way that you’re at fault,” Steve insisted. The beeping that signaled his heart rate had picked up, and his face had flushed. 

 

“Please stop yelling, you’re gonna make yourself--”

 

“Yes or no? Look me in the eyes, tell me you chose any part of what happened to you, and I’ll shut up.” 

 

Bucky froze. His own heart was pounding, the thudding loud in his ears. 

 

“That’s what I thought,” Steve growled. “None of it was your fault, and you were cleared. You’re a good guy, Bucky Barnes.” A sweet smile overtook the blonde man’s face, and Bucky could feel his heart still beating away. 

 

God, those  _ eyes… _ he really was beautiful, beat up as he was. 

 

“I’m...trying to be,” he said with a lopsided smile of his own. He was. He wanted to atone. He wanted to do some good in his unnaturally long life. He wanted to help people--it was all he had ever wanted. 

 

Steve smiled wider, and it lit up his face. “I know. Maybe…” he trailed off and shook his head before looking back up with an unreadable expression. 

 

Holding his breath, Bucky nodded softly, encouraging Steve to finish his thought. He didn’t dare hope for anything.

 

“Maybe you could use a friend who’s not afraid to remind you of that…?” his brows tilted in way that made him look shy and hopeful. 

 

Bucky had to look away. This kid really believed that Bucky was worth knowing. He was going to be disappointed. So Bucky said the only thing he could.

 

“I don’t think you want to be around me, Steve. I’m not--I’m not the most stable person.” He didn’t need to see Steve to know that the frown was back. But he had to stop this. Maybe he did want to be Steve’s friend, but he wasn’t sure he knew  _ how _ . 

 

If he were being honest, he really wanted more from Steve, and that wasn’t fair. Even if he was a good person at heart, he was beyond fucked up. His therapist had never dealt with someone like him, with his breadth of trauma. He’d never be “okay.” 

 

Steve didn’t need that. Steve didn’t deserve that. No one did. 

 

But apparently, the guy was intent on surprising Bucky. 

 

“Don’t tell me what I want. I know what I’m saying, even on pain meds.” 

 

“He’s right, man,” said a familiar voice. Bucky’s head whipped around to catch Sam leaning on the doorframe. 

 

“Sam, what the hell?” 

 

“I like this kid, he knows what’s goin’ on,” Sam said with a grin. He looked to Steve, and gave a wave. “Sam Wilson, how you doin’?”

 

Steve’s eyes were wide, the anger at Bucky’s misstep forgotten in favor of confusion. “You’re the Falcon. Uh…I’m Steve. Rogers.” 

 

“Yeah, we saw you on the news. You’re a brave man. Barnes here sometimes forgets that there are reasonable people out there.”

 

“Sam, don’t,” Bucky tried, not really sure what he was asking.

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t what? Don’t get you out of your head? Don’t help you make a friend?”

 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice sounded, hesitant and timid, and that didn’t seem right. Steve had been all fire until that point. 

 

“I should go. We should go, Sam. Steve, I--thank you. That’s what I came here for, to thank you for standing up for me, and to say--I’m sorry you got hurt because of it.” He made to turn to to door, and reached out a hand to yank Sam with him. 

 

“Wait!” Steve shouted. “Please don’t go. At least… at least give me a number or something? So I can check in?” That sad look made a home on that lovely, bruised face, and Bucky found that he couldn’t say no. 

 

He took a breath to speak his intent, but Sam beat him to it. 

 

“He’ll be back tomorrow, Steve. Same time?” 

 

“Buck?” Steve wanted  _ him _ to answer, to make the choice. 

 

“...Yeah, if...it’s alright… I’ll come back, Steve,” he said clearly. 

 

Sam’s smile was blinding, but Steve’s was beautiful. It tore his split lip open, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes crinkled at the corners, seemingly unbothered by his bruised cheekbone. 

 

“Ok. Ok, great! I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

 

Bucky wondered if his own smile was as wide as he nodded his agreement. 

 

“See you tomorrow, Steve.”

 

***

 

He went to see Steve in the hospital every day until he was discharged. After that, they met up whenever and wherever possible. 

 

Turned out, Bucky wasn’t the only one who was enamoured.   

 

But he thought he was the lucky bastard of the two of them. 

 

He’d have to thank Sam one of these days. 


End file.
